Doorways and Darkness
by Shi-Toyu
Summary: When in a bit of a tight spot, John is saved by the unlikeliest of people. How will an encounter in the dark change how he views his biggest enemy? Johnniarty. Pre-slash NOT SMUT


A/N: Here we go! Another one-shot! I probably shouldn't have written this, as it took time away from writing the next chapter of Exsanguination, but it was calling my name! Let me know if you think it was worth it!

Doorways and Darkness

John Watson's feet pounded heavily against the concrete and his breath came in gasps. He nearly slipped turning a corner around a storage bin in the shipping yard but quickly caught himself and plowed forward. His heart beat a quick rhythm against his chest, threatening to burst forth from his rib cage. He cast a quick look over his shoulder at the three men chasing him. How had things gone so very wrong?

It had all started when Lestrade had called in Sherlock for help on a murder investigation. The whole thing had led back to a drug ring and Sherlock, being himself, had decided that he and John needed to investigate without backup. In fact, he hadn't even told John what they were doing. The blonde swore he was going to kill his flat mate if he made it out of this alive.

The brunette had tracked the drug dealers back to this shipping yard, but the two had gotten caught before they could get any real investigating done. There had been five men in total, two taking after Sherlock while John ran from the other three in this veritable maze. He hoped the tall, lanky idiot was having a better time of it than he was.

The men were slowly gaining on him and John knew he was running out of options. He hadn't brought his gun along, so any moves he made would have to be weaponless. It didn't exactly help matters that the men he was running away from _weren't_ weaponless. This point was reiterated as a bullet zipped past his head and exploded against a storage container.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!"

John dashed around another corner, desperate to ensure that a bullet did _not_ find its way into his flesh. He'd gotten enough of that the first time he'd been shot, thank you very much. He was not keen on having the experience again. So, he figured weaving was his best option.

Still, he knew he wouldn't be able to run forever. He was bound to get tired before the men chasing him did. They were younger and in irritatingly better shape. Where were these guys dealing their drugs anyway, the gym? Irrationally, John felt a spike of anger at their superior athletic skills. Seriously, he chased _Sherlock bloody Holmes_ all over London on a regular basis. He wasn't exactly out of shape.

He dodged around a few more turns before temporarily losing sight of his would-be assailants. He took the opportunity to sprint past a row of partially opened containers, hoping to find and exit of some sort. It was at the end of the row that a pair of arms reached out from inside the container to grab him and yank him sideways.

He stumbled into the darkness only to be shoved roughly against a wall, his surprised shout smothered by a hand over his mouth. The door was pulled closed before there was a chance for him to react further and a body was pressed up against his own. The hand remained on his mouth as the sound of footsteps approached and then passed the container. The body pressed against his relaxed just a touch, but didn't move back to allow for space between them. Was there not room?

The form was lacking in both curves and the softness John generally attributed towards women, meaning whoever was male. Hip and shoulder placement told the doctor that the man was taller than himself, but only by a couple of inches at most. The frame was thin, but not unhealthily so. Short hair tickled the side of John's face and he shivered, something he knew the man would be able to feel. The air all around them smelt of rich, cinnamon apples, which permeated from the other man. John could feel his hot breath on his ear.

Even in the darkness, the doctor squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to calm his body. Clearly, it was confused by the adrenaline, the closeness of another body, and the darkness of the storage container. It was doing its best to goad John into something, but the doctor steadfastly refused to lose his focus even for a second. The last thing he needed was to get a hard-on while pressed up against a complete stranger.

A dark chuckle filled the air, right in John's ear, and he felt another shiver run up his spine. One of his savior's legs moved surreptitiously to slide between John's and press teasingly against his growing erection. A matching bulge could be felt from the other's pants. The hand that had been covering his mouth slipped to the side in order to play almost fondly with the tips of his hair. A dark, familiar voice spoke quietly into his ear.

"Why, Doctor, I had no idea you felt that way about me."

Instantly, it was more than just John's pants that was stiffening. His muscles tensed his hands flew to the other's side in preparation to throw the other away.

"Moriarty."

"Call me Jim." John could feel the man's manic grin against his cheek. The hand that had been playing with his hair moved to his throat, applying just enough pressure for the blonde to understand the threat. "There's no need to get riled up, Johnny-boy. Besides, just how much noise do you think it would take to make those nasty men come running back?"

"So you're behind this whole thing, then."

"Oh, goodness, no!" It struck John as surreal that Jim used phrases he'd expect to hear from his grandmother. Then again, he supposed anything from that man couldn't be considered out of character when he was always all over the place. "I was in the area on business when I got wind of the commotion. I just couldn't resist checking it out~!"

"So…you saved me?"

"Of course! Don't tell Sherlock-dear, but you really are my favorite."

"Right."

John's disbelief dripped from the word like a waterfall. What was it with Sherlock and crazy people? He felt Moriarty frown into his cheek.

"I'm not lying, you know. You're just so much _fun_, Dr. Watson. Loyal, unassuming John, no one expects you to surprise them. Most people don't even remember you're a doctor, much less an Army surgeon. How many of the people in your life know exactly how good a shot you are? Would they be surprised by how often you've used that gun since returning home?"

"If I had it with me now, I wouldn't mind using it on you."

By now, with the realization of just _who_ was pressed up against him, John's erection had begun to flag. He had much bigger things to worry about. However, as Moriarty wiggled and pressed against him, the organ rose to life once more and John had to bite back a groan.

Even in the darkness, he could practically feel Moriarty pouting.

"That's just mean, Johnny! I go out of my way to save you _and_ your flat mate, I say you're my favorite, I compliment your marksmanship, and you threaten me in return? Really, you have such awful manners."

"Well, you did strap me into a bomb vest that one time, so you could say I'm still a little bitter."

"Over that? Don't be ridiculous, John. It was merely a means to an end. You were never in any real danger."

"I wasn't in any-" John had to cut himself off to regain control of his volume. "I was _strapped_ to a _bomb vest_. You had _snipers_ on us."

"Yes, well, I needed to keep the two of you in control, didn't I? You two are so deliciously unpredictable, especially together."

John took a deep, calming breath.

"So why are you here now?"

"I _told_ you, Johnny. I was in the area-"

John cut him off.

"I don't want to hear that bullshit again. You and I both know you're no Good Samaritan and there's no way you'd be here now if you weren't getting something out of it."

"Oh, but I _am_." To emphasize his point, Moriarty pressed up close to John again. "I get to spend an indeterminate amount of time pressed up against you in the dark. Sherlock's too busy to come interrupt us and that means I have you all to myself. I do so _hate_ to share."

"You…what?"

With a childish foot stomp, the consulting criminal backed off. John's entire front felt suddenly cold and he thanked God for the darkness which hid how he started to reach out to bring the other man back. His eyes searched futilely, but the other was lost to the darkness. He took a tentative step forward, but could neither see nor hear a thing.

"Moriarty?"

No response. His erecting was flagging once more, but John paid it little mind. He didn't like the thought of not knowing where the criminal was, especially when he couldn't see. Still, some small, clearly insane, part of him was scared the consultant had left him. Which, really, was quite impossible seeing as how the bright light from outside would be a rather telling detail. That little voice in the back of John's head wouldn't let go of the fear, though.

"Jim?"

It came out more pleading and pathetic than John had intended and he mentally kicked himself. Way to play your hand, Watson. A dark chuckle resounded throughout the container, but John couldn't even begin to pinpoint its location.

"See, Johnny? We've got a connection, you and I. Do you call out to that precious consulting detective of yours so plaintively? Can he make you beg like I can? Can he give you the same _thrill?_" Suddenly, Jim was back, pressing against John again and pushing back into the side of the container with a solid 'thud.' "I know you want it just as much as I do, Doctor."

John's hands found purchase on the other's stomach and he pushed hard, shoving the man away from him. He pushed away the thought of how at home the body had felt against his and how his skin tingled from the contact. He infused his voice with as much anger as he could.

"You have no idea what you're saying. You're a mad man, Moriarty. We're not connected, not at all."

"Stop it!" The shout was brimming with rage and John flinched against the unseen threat. Perhaps it had not been his best idea to aggravate a man who'd tried to kill him multiple times. There was a pause in the darkness and when Moriarty spoke again it became clear that pause had been to calm down. "There's no point in denying it, John. Do you honestly think I don't know? Do you think I am so _stupid?_"

He ended up shouting again by the end and John squeezed his eyes shut, even though it made no difference to the amount of light. His head hung down as he pressed against the side of the container.

"Ok, sure. I find you attractive, which is unusual, because I'm not gay. But that doesn't mean we have a connection. It's just…my body reacting to stimulus. It doesn't _mean_ anything."

"Of course. John Watson; not gay, not his date, not a couple. You certainly seem to repeat yourself a lot. I do so hate repetition."

The derision was clear in his voice. John flinched again as a hand gently brushed the side of his face, but the touch didn't turn violent, though. The fingers trailed lightly along his cheek, brushing briefly across his lips and causing him a sharp intake of breath.

"What are you doing?"

"Memorizing you. Do you have even the slightest idea how remarkable you are, John?"

"I'm not remarkable. Sherlock's the remarkable one. He's why you started this whole game."

The now familiar chuckle sounded again and John felt the fingers still tracing his face shift with the motion. They had moved on to run across his eyebrows, gently smoothing down the short hairs.

"I was in this game long before Sherlock. Don't think this is all about him. He's a distraction, John, something to keep me busy. You, however, are a puzzle. You always manage to surprise me. That's not something that's easy to do, you know."

"So I'm just another game to you?"

"Not a game, John, a puzzle. Do keep up."

"What's the difference?"

The fingers on his face were distracting, but in a different way that the full body press had been before.

"A game is something I control. I make it exactly the way I want it to be and I go into it knowing how it will end. A puzzle is different. A puzzle is a mystery, if you will. The end has already been determined; you just don't know what it's going to be until you get there."

"And I'm a puzzle?"

"Of course you are. There is no doubt that you are an independent person. You have your own strength and smarts, not to mention two careers. Most of the boring people that fill this world can't even manage one. As if that weren't enough, your careers are a conundrum. A soldier and a doctor? Such a combination would normally cause conflict in a man, but not you."

John's eyes were open again, not that it made a difference. He was sure Jim could feel the surprise on his face. No one had ever been so…complimentary of him before. He knew his achievements were impressive and he didn't need anyone to tell him that. It was just…nice. It was also unexpected. Of all of the people he'd ever met, Jim Moriarty was the last he'd expect to compliment him.

John didn't have to be able to see the other man to know he was smirking.

"See, I knew you would come around."

"I'm not coming around, Jim."

"Alright, John, whatever you say."

The blonde had only ever heard a more condescending tone from his flat mate and experience there told him to just ignore it. He opted for changing the subject instead.

"How long will we have to stay in here? Do you think it's safe to leave?"

"I have men working on it. They will text me when the job is done."

The hand had moved onto his ear and John shivered as the man rubbed his earlobe. It made it hard to think. At the same time he didn't want to make Jim angry again by pushing him away.

"And Sherlock?"

John was no fool. He knew his flat mate was still out there. He had to make sure he wasn't in danger.

"He will remain untouched. My men are under orders to not even let him see them. It's more fun that way, with him wondering what is going on. Oh, he'll figure it out eventually, but not yet."

"So, you just _happened_ to be in the area when you heard of our struggles. Am I to believe this has all been done just out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Of course not, Johnny! I couldn't have the two of you taken out of my game so soon, especially you. Besides, now I get to hold saving your life over Sherlock's head. Oh, he's going to _hate_ it!"

There was no disguising the glee that colored Jim's voice at the prospect of holding something over Sherlock's head. Really, there were some days that John couldn't blame him. All that aside, though, it looked like they were going to be there for a little while.

"So what kind of business were you doing?"

"Nothing exciting, unfortunately. There was a minor drug business that thought they could move into my city without paying the proper respects. The fools thought they could shoulder me out and take over."

This time, the chuckle came from John.

"That's absurd! Did they honestly believe that?"

"It would appear so. Normally I would delegate the task of shutting them down to someone else, but they managed to particularly irk me. I thought I would oversee their destruction myself."

"But never get your own hands dirty, of course."

"Of course."

The hand moved down to stroke slow lines along John's neck. The motion should have caused John great discomfort, given that the man was a killer, but it was almost soothing. He leaned his head back and relaxed into the touch. The hand stilled for a moment before resuming its ministrations.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"What do you think it is? What is it about you that draws people like me and Sherlock to you like moths to the flame? I've encountered contradictions before, but none that are as compelling as you."

"How should I know? You're supposed to be the genius. I'm an idiot, just ask Sherlock."

"And he is a fool. I cannot begin to explain how his flippant treatment of you infuriates me." Those delicate fingers tensed momentarily before relaxing again. It should have alarmed John, but the darkness seemed to be getting to him. "I can understand it, though."

"Oh? Are you beginning to see me as an idiot, too?"

"Not in the slightest. Sherlock Holmes is afraid, something he is wholly unused to. He is afraid to have you realize how remarkable you are. If you were to realize that he needs you so much more than you need him, what is to stop you from leaving? What is to keep you with him? What if you were to get…a better offer?"

"He's my best friend. I'm not leaving him."

John meant his response to be directed both at Sherlock's fear and Jim's not so subtle offer. Did he really think that was all it would take? The dark chuckle told him otherwise. A part of him said he should really be getting tired of whatever it was he was doing to amuse the criminal consultant so much, but he really couldn't bring himself to care.

"Of course not. But it's sentiment that keeps you there, Doctor, and sentiment is something else that Sherlock does not understand."

"And I suppose you're going to tell me that you do? That you are _such_ a sentimental man."

A snort sounded in the darkness.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I am _hardly_ sentimental…but I do understand it, even experience it at times." Here, the hand slid back up to cup the side of his cheek, one thumb rubbing gently across his cheek bone. "I know how to appreciate things, and people. The Holmes brothers view sentiment as a weakness, but love has so much more power than hate."

The silence that filled the container at that statement was pregnant with implications. There were a thousand ways for that last statement to be interpreted and none of them made John feel overly comfortable. Luckily, he was saved from having to come up with a response by Jim's phone going off. It was a short, three note run.

The hand left his face, leaving the skin there cold in its place. After a moment of rustling, a soft blue light, blinding in the darkness, lit up only a foot in front of him. It shone upwards to highlight the angles and lines of Jim's face as he read the message and sent a reply. Less than 30 seconds later, the phone was returned to Jim's pocket and they were left once more in darkness.

"The coast it clear, if you wish to leave. The last of those pesky drug runners have been removed. I'm sure your precious Sherlock will be frantic with worry about you, what with people dropping dead and all."

"I guess I should go then."

"Yes, I guess you should."

Despite their words, neither man moved. Despite the gap between them, John could somehow feel the heat coming from the other's body. Unlike the other times he'd been separated from Jim during this encounter, he didn't feel alone anymore.

"Jim-"

"I will call you in two days, exactly at noon. If you answer, we will proceed from there. If you do not, we will forget this ever happened. Now, I am about to be late for my next appointment."

John would have said something more, but his lips were suddenly covered by Jim's. A hand on either side of his face, Jim was obviously putting the earlier mapping to good use. The kiss was chaste, little more than the press of one pair to another, but it was insistent and needy. Jim bit the blonde's bottom lip gently before pulling away.

Moments later, the container was flooded with blinding light as Jim pushed open the door. John threw up one hand to shield his eyes and squinted, but he could still only just barely make out a silhouette.

"Thank you, John. It was a lovely chat."

John was still standing inside the container when Sherlock found him. The frazzled-looking detective took one look at his stunned expression and knew that something had happened. John, however, would not tell him what.

Two days later, exactly at noon, John's phone rang.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has read this! I really do appreciate even just the look. That being said, I wouldn't mind a review or two. Let me know that you think! (It helps me do better next time. Besides, who knows? You might just inspire a one-shot by telling me something you'd like to see.)


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